Journey to an 800 Number Read Online Free Page A

girl who had her hand cut off by a New York subway and the doctors sewed it back on?”
    “Can’t say that I have,” Father answered. “Maybe my son has.”
    I had rested my fork somewhere in midair, and my mouth was open—not for food but for astonishment. I hoped that everyone thought
food.
    Father said, “Max, have you read anything lately about Renee, the girl who had her hand cut off by a New York subway and the doctors sewed it back on?”
    I said, “I have not only not heard anything lately, I haven’t heard anything
firstly.”
    “Renee is a very talented flute player from NewYork City who went to a special high school for talented children …”
    The mother nodded and said, “The High School for Music and Art.”
    “You have to be very talented just to be allowed to go to school there. It’s free if you live in New York.”
    The mother nodded and said, “They have dancers and musicians and artists. Of course they’re
all
artists, but I mean, painters. They are all very talented. They come from all over the city.”
    “That’s why they have to ride the subway. And Renee was just a few weeks away from graduating when someone pushed her off the subway platform and the train ran over her hand and cut it off, and a subway guard put the hand in a plastic bag and rushed it to the hospital right along with Renee, and the doctors sewed her hand back on.”
    “An eleven-hour operation,” the mother said, nodding again.
    “No one knows if she can ever play the flute again. But you should always remember to put any part that’s cut off—even if it’s just a finger—into a plastic bag and take it to the hospital with you.”
    “Took the doctors hours and hours just to clean the flesh around where the hand was cut off,” the mother said.
    “If you can pack the cut-off part in ice after you put it in the plastic bag, that’s best.”
    “Have they found the guy who shoved her?” I asked.
    “Man or woman,” Sabrina said, “they haven’t found who did it. I was hoping you’d have some news.”
    “Sorry we can’t help you out,” Father said.
    I looked over at Father, and I realized that he really was sorry. He would have liked to have had some news of Renee to tell to this Sabrina and her mother.
    Sabrina’s mother said to her, “C’mon now, dear, you’d better eat up if we’re going to get to Dallas.” She looked over at Father and said, “We’re going to a convention in Dallas.”
    “So am I,” Father said.
    That was the first I heard about it. “What convention are we going to?” I asked.
    “Travel agents,” he answered.
    “Why?” I asked.
    “The Mideast Airlines have a big booth at the Convention Center, and they’ve hired Ahmed to be in the booth to attract people. Sort of a visual aid.”
    “You mean they’ve actually invited Ahmed indoors?” I asked.
    “It’s a convention center,” Father explained. “That’s like wide open spaces except that there’s a roof over it. You’ll be glad to know it’s air-conditioned.” Father turned to Sabrina and her mother and explained, “Ahmed is my camel.”
    The mother said to Sabrina, who was back to reading her paper, “Sabrina, dear, this gentleman, Mr… .”
    “Stubbs,” Father said. “Woodrow Stubbs and my son, Maximilian.”
    “Sabrina, Mr. Stubbs and his son have a camel. Now, isn’t that interesting? We’ve never met camel owners before.”
    “Owner,” I said.
    “What’s that, dear?” the mother asked. “It’s Maximilian, isn’t it?”
    I nodded.
    “I’m Lilly,” she said, “and this is my daughter, Sabrina.”
    Sabrina nodded, took another bite of toast, wiped her mouth and got up. She was not very tall, and she was as skinny as a ball point pen and as straight! Very fifth-graderish. She hitched up her jeans because she didn’t have any figure to help hold them up, and she pulled down on her jersey, and she wasn’t flattening anything underneath the jersey when she did. She was what you might